


The laceration of laughter

by svartalfheimr



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28037352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svartalfheimr/pseuds/svartalfheimr
Summary: Rex lifts his hand, places careful fingers under Maul’s chin and strokes bitten lips with the pad of his thumb. Yellow eyes slowly open and stare at him with pleading and devotion, two wanton orbs of bottomless need and inescapable fear. Rex leans down, fingers tilting his chin up, then kisses him chastely without a word. Maul doesn't try to get more than what Rex gives him.
Relationships: Darth Maul/CT-7567 | Rex
Comments: 22
Kudos: 71





	The laceration of laughter

**Author's Note:**

> Still trying to find my footing in writing smut, which means I write a whole lot of stuff to try out what's ok and what's meh, and some of it I can't really add in any of the fics I'm working on,,,,  
> I usually post the rough drafts I don't know what to do with in the maulrex server to work on something else but this one may be a bit too lengthy for that 🤡

  
  
  
  


Maul whimpers, hips rocking with abrupt, sharp jerks. His chest rises and falls with quick breaths—desperate pants echoing throughout the room, muted tells of wanton need. 

His head drops back once he's fully seated, a relieved moan escaping his mouth. He starts grinding down, body shivering in sudden waves, hands clutching trembling thighs.

He's being good—waiting patiently on the edge of desperation, thrumming with want but still aware enough he doesn't go beyond established rules.

Until something clicks. He clenches around him and slowly but unmistakably begins to ride him without waiting for approval. This won't do.

“Stop,” Rex orders and it doesn't take more than this. Maul stills. He even tries to control his breathing. “Get on the floor.”

It's just a second, a tiny second, but Rex can see the sharp indignation and anger flaring inside him—for a short moment, Maul rebels, almost snarling, and refuses to comply. The moment dies instantly but the fact that it came to be is enough for Rex to know they're not there yet.

It takes a very long time to get Maul in the exact mind frame Rex is looking for—hours before they even _think_ about baring skin, an entire day cycle of coaxing him in the right direction if Rex even considers it for _the following morning—_ in the evening, Maul will not budge. Maybe it's because they'll sleep right after. Maybe it's something else. Rex isn't sure but what he's sure of is that they can't do _this_ out of the blue. 

It should be frustrating but, if he's being honest with himself, taming Maul hours before makes it even better. It's a game of subtlety, charm and suggestion.

“I said,” Rex's voice strikes with enough menacing force Maul forgets how to breathe as soon as the words leave his mouth, “Get on the floor.”

He complies. He rises until Rex’s cock is free to drop on his abdomen and a single sob escapes his throat at the loss. He clamps his mouth shut immediately, tries to get up but fails. His legs aren't responding to his pleas. Rex stops himself from smiling. They're not there yet—but they're close. 

Maul whines in frustration, nails biting his thighs. Rex brushes the back of his hands with gentle fingers silently—enough to relax him, not enough to take the harshness off his command.

“Do not make me repeat myself,” he whispers softly. Maul trembles, swallowing down a sob, nodding jerkily, and he tries again. At least he lost the ability to form words. There's still many tasks to accomplish but it's a good sign.

It takes him an entire minute but Maul slides down the bed and kneels on the ground, head hung low, hands splayed flat over his thighs. He waits patiently. Rex watches him but doesn't move. 

Maul has been on edge lately—more than usual, more than what is careful. When he goes like this, he loses his ability to decipher what is _smart_ and what is _blind yearning_ ; he becomes hungrier, wilder, and covets more than what is reasonable. He obsesses over one thing and one thing only until he can either possess it or be certain no one else will get to have it if he doesn't, carelessly destroying everything in his path. 

He tried to do it with Rex but eventually failed. He tried to do it with the Collective and succeeded—until he lost everything. Because once he goes too far, Maul doesn't see clearly anymore; he underestimates risk and overestimates reward. It's a sure path to blind rage—if he obtains what he desires, the obsession twisted so much of the actual possession that reality seems poorly insufficient; if he doesn't win, he lays waste to everything he can touch until he is either stopped or finds a new obsession.

Maul is destructive by nurture. The man who brought him up made sure the child would not grow into a fully fledged individual—and he succeeded, if not in the way he intended. Maul craves more than anyone should and will probably die hungry. 

Rex lifts his hand, places careful fingers under Maul’s chin and strokes bitten lips with the pad of his thumb. Yellow eyes slowly open and stare at him with pleading and devotion, two wanton orbs of bottomless need and inescapable fear. Rex sits up on the bed, leans down, fingers tilting his chin up, then kisses him chastely without a word. Maul doesn't try to get more than what Rex gives him. 

The goal is not to play hard to get; the goal is to make him understand not everything can be possessed. Rex doesn't own him and Maul doesn't own Rex. 

It's when he senses a twinge of desperation that he leans back on the bed. Maul chases after him before he can remember himself; then, he sits back on his heels, eyes closed, lips forming small, silent words that Rex doesn't need to decipher to understand. It seems they took the next step.

“Get back on the bed,” he whispers, tilting his chin up harshly when Maul shudders with relief. “You behave badly again and we stop. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” he replies immediately in a broken rasp, the word setting a chain of shivers he cannot control. “Yes.”

Rex caresses his jaw with his thumb. “Good,” he rewards and he is certain Maul’s eyes crossed just from this. “Now get on the bed.”

He does. He still has some rebellion left in him; he tries to play it smart, cluelessness seeping out of every move he makes. He puts one knee on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, then naturally straddles Rex’s waist, planting himself around him as if this was what was expected from the get-go. Clever, clever boy—so far gone he’s unable to form even half sentences but still trying to get his way.

Rex runs teasing fingers from his knees to his hips, incapable of denying him for the moment. Maul tries not to react too much; he ducks his chin, lets his hands rest palms up on the blanket and breathes steadily. His body, however, betrays him—his thighs tremble under his touch, abdominal muscles clench and his cock twitches. He’s slowly losing control. They’re getting there.

Rex takes the bottle of lube and squeezes a small amount in his palm. Maul’s breath hitches at the sound; his shoulders tense minutely in anticipation. His eyes open widely, zeroing in on Rex’s hand, and he lets out a desperate whine that he cuts off abruptly when he sees him engulfing his own cock. Rex’s eyes flutter shut for an instant, lost in the sensation, hand sliding up and down, wrist twisting at the head. He squeezes once and sighs in relief.

Maul stays silent. Rex would expect at least a gust of breath, a small call—nothing. Maybe he miscalculated. He opens his eyes, expecting a snarl or blind rage, but all he sees is wanton despair and it is clear Maul persuaded himself he is being denied. Rex doesn’t need to ask him to know he is already punishing himself for whatever reason he found that would leave him wanting.

“Shh, come here,” Rex calls in a whisper and the blatant gasp of relief summons a painful clench inside his chest. Maul drops down, hovering but not touching, probably too scared to misinterpret the words. Rex lets go of himself, wipes his hand carelessly on the blanket and curls his arms around Maul’s back, pulling him closer until he can kiss him effortlessly. As soon as he touches his lips, Maul whimpers.

“You’re doing well,” he tells him, fingers running along his spine, tracing mindless patterns meant to coax him back to a better mind state. “You know that, hmm?” He kisses his cheek, waiting for any kind of reaction. “Yeah?” he prompts again when Maul only releases shivering breaths, eyes tightly shut.

He receives a single, curt nod. This won’t do. It’s not enough. He rolls them over, pinning Maul to the mattress and makes a home between his legs, shushing him when he hears him whine. He rolls his hips, grinding against him, and revels in the way Maul’s back arches, his whole body shuddering for his touch. When Rex tries to kiss him, the response is too uncoordinated; he got him back in the right mind frame but the risk of having him drop again is too high for his taste. As much as Maul likes playing with boundaries, this is one Rex is not willing to cross. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers against his lips, swallowing the responding moan. He sits back on his heels, hands splayed on Maul’s chest possessively, humming in satisfaction. Fingers roaming on his skin, he takes his hips in hand, pulls him closer and asks, “Like this?”

Maul nods mutely. Rex stops himself from frowning. “No,” he decides. The way Maul relaxes is glaringly obvious even if he is trying hard not to show it.

The problem is that there’s no doubt Maul _wants_ to ride him but he’s clearly too far gone to achieve it; Rex could help him out but, if Maul notices, everything they did before would be for nothing.

He started dropping hints the night before. Maul had been mostly nonverbal these last few days, favoring growls over hums, glares over stares. Rex feigned not noticing anything wrong, choosing a subtler approach. 

The goal is to drop enough hints for Maul to understand really early in the game what he is aiming at—but if he comes on too strong, he gets either rejected or snarled at. He knows by now how to proceed, even if it’s not an exact science. There’s no single method for any kind of situations but there are usual routes he can take without worrying too much.

Last night, Rex ran his fingers down Maul’s spine when they looked at the holopod. He didn’t do anything else and Maul said nothing in return. 

Now he lines them up, says “On your elbows,” and watches the way his eyes close with satisfaction. He won’t hold himself like this for long; they both know it—but it doesn’t matter.

Last night, Rex waited for them to be in bed to take Maul’s jaw between his fingers and kiss him more forcefully than usual, restraining his movements. The fact that he felt him tense immediately against his lips, only to melt and tense back right after was enough for Rex to know he was on the right path.

Maul lets a relieved sigh when he feels Rex entering him, throat bobbing with anticipation. He’s already loose and pliant, arms beginning to shake, and when Maul begins to whisper silent words at the ceiling, Rex lifts his thighs to give himself more range, hands sliding until they lock onto his ankles to spread his legs. He starts grinding into him.

This morning, he pulled him back in when Maul tried to get up, teeth worrying at his neck.

“What are you doing,” Maul hissed, tilting his head to give him more space. It’s _then_ that they both knew where they were going; it is during crucial moments like this one that Rex knows if he can have Maul like this or not.

“Don’t talk,” he replied, nipping his shoulder, crossing their fingers together. “Let me have this.”

And Maul huffed, rolling his eyes, getting ready to snap so Rex placed a kiss on his forehead and curled a hand around his throat. 

Maul fell silent instantly.

“So good to me,” Rex whispers now, slowly rocking inside him, going deeper and deeper. Once he bottoms out, he stops moving, giving them time to breathe and simply feel each other. Maul drops back down on the bed silently and shivers, hands clawing at the blanket. Rex pulls almost out, sees his breath hitch in anticipation and grinds up into him, taking his time. He begins a gentle pace, moaning low in his throat, the friction delicious on its own but the sight—Maul writhing on the bed, stuttering pants turning into broken moans, fingers clenching on the blanket—the sight is what teases him, a plea to turn Maul into an even more broken mess, to have him bounce on his cock until he can do nothing but take it.

Rex resists temptation and opts for something else; he waits for Maul to arch his back and curls an arm around him, lifting him up before he can realize what Rex is doing. Pulling him up against him, he kisses him fervently, grinning at the surprised groan and the sloppy response. Maul drapes his arms over Rex’s shoulders and gazes down at him silently.

“Can you hold yourself up?” Rex asks in a whisper and Maul smiles. His heart beats up and threatens to burst out of his chest. 

“No,” he admits, body already pulled back down by gravity. When Rex drops him back on the bed, he grins, chest vibrating with laughter.

It takes a long time and the right moment to have Maul like this—defenseless and completely uncaring—but it’s the most beautiful thing Rex has ever seen. He wouldn't change Maul for anything—he fell in love with _him,_ not the idea of what he could be—but that doesn't mean he wishes things had been different. The circumstances that brought them together are the ones who still plague them at night; without the war, Rex wouldn't be alive. It's become glaringly obvious the reason for his mere existence was just another step in a grand plan made by the man who now owns the galaxy—the very same man who haunts Maul’s every step, every dream, and every waking moment.

But Maul laughs freely, eyes crinkling with comfortable happiness, and Rex knows he isn't meant to love but it's impossible for him not to when he sees Maul like this. He leans down, sliding his knees over his shoulders and rocks more quickly.

Maul is violent by nurture.The man who brought him up made sure the child would not grow into a balanced individual—and he succeeded, if not in the way he intended. Every reaction, every sensation and feeling is intermingled with violence for Maul; his destructive tendencies bring him a sharp, dangerous kind of vicious satisfaction that he mistook for happiness for most of his life. For a long time, joy in every form meant weakness; wishing for happiness inevitably led to disappointment at best but, more often than not, to suffering.

“Beautiful,” Rex whispers when he sees Maul’s head dropping down, a loud moan escaping him. “You want to ride me?”

Maul’s eyes open immediately and he grins.

It’s easier said than done. Clearly. Maul fumbles a lot, coordination gone for a while now, and despite all of his enthusiasm, he doesn’t help out much; Rex practically rolls them over, pulls him and holds him tightly enough Maul won’t just let himself fall on Rex’s legs.

“Can you hold yourself up?”

Maul frowns, eyes closed, grinding down shamelessly. His head lolls back; Rex sits halfway up to prevent him from having his whole body tilt with his head. Maul laughs victoriously.

“No,” he admits and it’s clear he’s past caring. “Hold me up.”

Rex stops himself from rolling his eyes but he still snorts. When Maul begins rocking up and down, each time abruptly sinking onto his cock, Rex quickly loses the ability to speak. His hands clench around Maul’s hips, trying to hold him up as best as he can—but the fact is Rex is trying _not_ to come and it’s taking almost all of his brain cells. 

Maul groans with each brush of his prostate; his hand curls around his own cock and he strokes himself in rhythm with his thrust, a wide grin gracing his face. Rex swears. He meets him every time he drops back down with brutal thrusts, privately celebrating each startled moan he can get out of him.

Maul almost falls horns first on Rex’s face. “Touch me,” he growls, hands supporting himself up, rocking back and forth. “No,” he whines when Rex’s cock is pulled out by a too-sharp jerk.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one getting creative,” Rex says dryly, still planting his feet on the bed and lifting his hips, taking himself in hand to line himself up. “Feel free to not help out.”

Maul grins, nipping his jaw. He doesn’t help out at all—if anything, he’s undermining his ability to focus. It’s breathtakingly charming coming from him.

Years before, if anyone told Rex he’d have Darth Maul nuzzling his cheek, he would’ve called them a liar. Two years ago as well, even if he already got kissed by the most annoying crime lord in the entire galaxy. If Ohnaka doesn’t count as a crime lord of course—otherwise Maul’s definitely second. As it is, he’s still baffled because it’s rare. He can probably count the number of times Maul was comfortable enough to act like this on the fingers of one hand—and not all of them would be raised.

Maul shudders with a whiny sigh when he feels him pushing inside again; he lifts himself higher, groaning with the new angle, biting his lip. He rocks back and forth greedily, too impatient to wait—he sinks brutally onto Rex’s cock and moans. They try to find a good pace but unfortunately the position doesn’t offer high mobility.

“You either ride me or you don’t,” Rex says, gritting his teeth, and his eyes widen when he hears Maul’s considering hum.

“Yes,” he replies intelligently then proceeds to pull himself up again without warning. Eyes closed in concentration, chin tilted up, he places his shoulder blades against Rex’s knees and rocks his hips in a tortuously slow pace that makes them both groan. He strokes himself in rhythm with his thrust, hand and hips picking up a more rapid pace, chest heaving with loud, whiny pants. “Captain,” he calls in a broken plea and Rex shushes him immediately, hands stroking his shaking frame, offering him reassuring words of praise and encouragement. 

“Captain,” Maul stutters between sobs, hips still rocking back and forth, hand slowing down only to quicken the pace again and again. “Captain.” It dawns on Rex what he is asking for and he is flooded with rapture and unrepentant desire. He thrusts harshly inside him, making him bounce and moan loudly.

“Not yet,” Rex orders, chasing after his own pleasure, hit with a dark pang of want when he hears the moans turn into broken cries, sobs racking his chest; Maul’s hand stills for an instant and he squeezes the head of his cock harshly, denying himself with a loud wail. Rex pushes him back down again and again, groaning in time with his cries.

“Please,” Maul whispers, tears falling down his cheeks. He’s never heard him like this before. 

It takes a very long time to get Maul in the exact mind frame Rex was looking for—hours before they even _think_ about baring skin, an entire day cycle of coaxing him in the right direction. It took Rex years to see him this vulnerable, ready to beg, uncaring of the consequences. Years and years of training, of torture and misery shed away with one word, one single whisper—one word for Rex to hear, memorize and cherish for eternity.

“Come for me,” he demands and Maul does with a silent cry, spilling on Rex’s chest, hand frantic around his cock until he is fully spent.

Rex pulls out, flipping Maul on his back. It doesn’t take more than a couple of strokes; he comes on Maul, painting his chest, and the entire time Maul stares at him with wanton eyes, baring his neck and shuddering when Rex closes his hand around it softly.

“So good to me,” he mutters with a tired smile, fingers squeezing once before releasing him. Maul throws the cleaning wipes at his chest with a simple flick of his wrist, watching him expectantly. “Sir, yes, sir,” Rex says dryly, even though he is happy he doesn’t have to move to get them.

He wipes himself quickly and efficiently but takes time with Maul, caressing skin, leaning down to leave a trail of kisses on his unsoiled chest, biting at his hip when he cleans him between his legs. He mutters words of praise that create small reactions filling him with joy.

“Decadent,” Maul huffs. He doesn’t try to stop him, though—he cranes his neck and stretches to give him more skin, shivers when particular words are uttered and his fingers stroke Rex’s hair when he kisses him.

“Thank you,” he mutters against Maul’s lips, hoping for the words to lose some of the weight without eye contact. It’s not what he really wants to say. And he’s sure they both know it.

He’s pushed away softly; glowing eyes observe him silently, roaming over his face. There’s a slight frown gracing Maul’s features, the markings on his skin moving with the expression of his confusion, or maybe his disappointment. Rex stays silent, readying himself for rejection, silently hoping none of the hurt will be visible. 

But Maul only smiles, throat bobbing up and down, and he pulls Rex against him, touching his forehead with his own. 

None of them say the words. Mostly because they don't need to.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> First pwp!! Achievement unlocked wow! ᕦ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ᕤ


End file.
